Page 163 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

“I’ll help with the rest,” Ren offers, gathering bags from where I’ve set them near the entry.

“Thanks,” I say, stretching tired shoulders. “I’m going to get some water then change. Shopping is surprisingly exhausting.”

“It’s the decision fatigue,” Jax explains, following me toward the kitchen. “Too many choices in too short a time.”

“You might be right.” I fill a glass from the filtered tap, then lean against the counter to drink it, enjoying the cool relief.

Jax moves into my space with casual confidence, hands settling at my waist, body crowding me gently against the counter. “Did you enjoy today?” he asks, voice dropping to the lower register that never fails to send shivers along my spine.

“Very much,” I nod, setting my glass aside to loop my arms around his neck. “It felt…”

“Normal?” he supplies.

“Yes. Wonderfully, perfectly normal.”

He smiles, the expression crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that makes my heart skip. “I like seeing you happy, Hailey. Relaxed. Safe.”

“I like feeling that way,” I admit, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw. “And I especially like having all day to think about what might happen when we got home.”

His hands tighten at my waist, a low rumble of approval vibrating through his chest. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” I let my lips trail to his ear, gratified when his breathing quickens slightly. “I was thinking about that new massage oil Ren bought. And how we have the whole afternoon free.”

Jax makes a sound suspiciously close to a growl, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter to better align our bodies. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly evolvesinto something hungrier, his hands sliding beneath my sweater to trace warm patterns against my skin.

I respond eagerly, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him closer, reveling in the freedom to want without reservation.

His lips trail down my throat, pausing at the hollow where my pulse beats visibly beneath thin skin. “The couch? The nest? Here on the kitchen counter?” he murmurs against sensitive flesh.

“Yes,” I respond breathlessly. “Here is good.”

A throat clears from the doorway, interrupting what was quickly developing into something inappropriate for kitchen surfaces. We look up to find Stone watching us with equal parts amusement and interest.

“There’s mail,” he says, holding up a small stack. “And while I fully support wherever this is heading, you might want to move it upstairs before Finn returns and lectures you about proper kitchen hygiene.”

Jax laughs, stepping back enough to help me down from the counter but keeping an arm around my waist. “Fair point. What mail? Anything important?”

Stone shuffles through the envelopes. “Bills. Advertisement.” He pauses at a plain white envelope, studying it with a slight frown. “And this. No return address, but it went to one of our gyms and they forwarded it here. It’s addressed to Hailey.”

A small shiver of unease disrupts my contentment as Stone hands me the envelope. It’s unremarkable—standard size, my name printed in neat block letters. Probably nothing concerning. A thank you note from one of the omegas I’ve been working with at the rehabilitation center, perhaps, or information about the support group I joined.

But something about it feels wrong.

I slide my finger beneath the flap, tearing it open with mounting apprehension. Inside is a single sheet of paper, foldedonce. When I unfold it, the few lines of text almost cause me to stagger.

“We saw the news. You’re alive. Come settle your debts. Friday, 7 pm, Jim’s Diner downtown. Come alone or not at all.”

No signature. None needed. Jim’s Diner…I remember that place. It’s where my…my Ma used to work…

“Hailey?” Jax’s voice seems to come from very far away. “What is it? You’ve gone pale.”

I can’t speak, can only hold out the letter with fingers that have begun to tremble slightly. Jax takes it, his expression darkening as he reads the brief message. Stone moves closer, reading over his shoulder, his body tensing with each word.

“What the hell?” Jax says softly, the controlled anger in his voice more frightening than a shout would be. “Who the hell sent this?”

“My…my mother.” The words drop like leaden weights. “Has to be. No one else would—No one else would know about that diner. No one else would—” I break off, unsure how to continue. No one else would what? Consider me in debt to them? Have the audacity to demand a meeting after what they did? Phrase a request with such cold entitlement?

“What’s happening?” Finn appears in the doorway, immediately sensing the shift in mood. “Why does everyone look like they’re plotting murder?”

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